


Fragile Contents: Handle with Care

by lazyshit



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Fluff, I haven't written like this in so long, M/M, What am I doing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 02:40:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12644463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyshit/pseuds/lazyshit
Summary: Based on an anonymous ask: "Ok but like, Spot helping Race write an anonymous love letter to Race's crush and being sad, then one day get the letter"





	Fragile Contents: Handle with Care

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any mistakes; I edited it super fast last night because I was so excited about this prompt and just wanted to finish it!

Spot squinted at the jumbled mess of words on his laptop. Somehow the glow from the screen only seemed to get brighter. He rubbed his eyes and returned to staring at the unfinished sentence he’d just added to the now six-page essay. Maybe if he stared long enough the next part would magically come to him. 

_Yeah, right, that’s totally gonna work._

He started reading from the beginning of the paragraph, hoping the rest of the sentence would just flow naturally from what he’d already written.

_The lack of information about mental illness during the 16th and 17th centuries limited Shakespeare’s–_

Spot narrowed his eyes.  _Limited Shakespeare’s…ability to properly _– no, scratch that. His characterization? Or maybe…__

He tilted his head.  _Maybe just take out “limited Shakespeare’s” and put _–__

The door opened and Spot’s vision turned white.  _The fuck?_ He blinked several times and tried to glare up at the person who’d just walked in. Tried and probably failed, but whatever. At least everything was starting to look normal again.

“Were you working in the dark again?”

Spot glanced down at his laptop and then back up, meeting Race’s eyes. Spot’s stomach lurched, and he pointedly ignored the warm sensation crawling up his neck. “No.”

Race gave him  _that look—_ honestly, why couldn’t he just let Spot live his life in peace…in the dark?—but let it go.

“Right. Anyway, you doin’ anything important right now? I need help.”

Spot tore his gaze away, only then realizing he’d been staring, to check the time: 9:43. “Yeah, okay. What’s up?”

(What? He still had over ten hours to finish the last four pages.)

“Well, uh,” Race grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck, “I might’ve lost a bet. So I kinda have to write a love letter? Anonymously. To the person I like.”

Spot closed his laptop. “Well how’re you gonna do that? Do you even  _like_ anyone?”

“Maybe? Yes?”

_Oh_. Spot froze for a split second before sitting up to face Race, who seemed to decide that was a good moment to examine the sleeve of his hoodie…wait, was that Spot’s hoodie? Whatever, not important right now.

He carefully smoothed his features into a blank expression. “So you want me to help you write this…love letter.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah, pretty much I guess,” Race told his sleeve.

“But why do you need help writing something that should come from you?”

“You’re better with words and shit. I just need help making it sound,” he plopped down on his own bed, “not lame.”

Spot closed his eyes and took a very calm, controlled breath which he could proudly say was devoid of any shakiness whatsoever. His eyes opened. “Alright then. What do you want to say in it?”

Race finally looked up. “What?”

He fought back the urge to roll his eyes. “What do you want to say to…this person, like what you like about them and…stuff?”

Race bit his lip (not that Spot noticed or anything) and played with the edge of his sheets for a moment. He lifted his head to meet Spot’s gaze and replied, “His eyes.”

Spot waited. Race just looked at him.

“Okay…what about his eyes?”

Race frowned. “What do you mean? I guess they’re, uh, they’re nice.”

He raised an eyebrow. Race crossed his arms, a gesture he understood by now to indicate Race’s discomfort, and shifted his focus to a distant spot on the wall facing them.

“Fine, they’re  _very_  nice.” Spot decided not to point out the faint spots of pink that had begun to color Race’s cheeks. “And I like to look at them.”

Spot suppressed a sigh. So much for having ten hours to finish his paper.

* * *

Spot printed the essay exactly 12 minutes before it needed to be on the professor’s desk. He considered skipping his second class to go take a nap, but he felt too wired to fall asleep. The exhaustion started to settle in around 1 in the middle of a history lecture, and after struggling to keep his eyes open for the remaining two hours, he finally was done for the day. 

When he got to the dorm, he practically flung himself onto his bed, not even bothering to remove his shoes, and probably would’ve stayed like that for the rest of the afternoon if he hadn’t heard a crinkling sound from under his back.

He dragged himself into an upright position and plucked the folded paper from the sheets, turning it over to find his name written. 

_What the _ _–__?_

Belatedly, Spot recognized the handwriting as Race’s messy scrawl and his heart stopped. He relaxed a second later when he realized it wasn’t the letter Race wrote the night before. He should know _—_ he watched him write it. Trying not to feel slightly disappointed, Spot unfolded the note and began to read. 

**Dear Spot,**

**So I decided to start from scratch, so I hope you’re not mad at me for keeping you up. ~~Because I threw that letter out.~~  But you told me it would probably be better to write this in my own words in the first place, so here goes nothing.**

**Your eyes. They’re very nice. You have very nice eyes and I like to look at them. Definitely not the best way of putting it, but that’s basically what I said last night sooo yeah. But no it’s more like I get lost in them, like when we talk at night about the things we wouldn’t dare mention when the sun’s up. (and you know what they are so I won’t list them) And when you’re mad it’s so hard to look away because you get so intense. It’s like you’re trying to set the world on fire and call me crazy but I want to burn.**

**It’s always you that I look for in a crowd or even when we’re just with our friends because ~~the~~  my world always seems more balanced when you’re there and all that. You’re the first and last person I see every day (the perks of being roommates!) so I guess I should’ve expected that I’d end up liking you but it still took me by surprise when I realized. I really hope this doesn’t make things too awkward and I don’t want to pressure you or anything into anything. I like our friendship and our  ~~insults~~  banter and inside jokes and stuff and I don’t want to lose that just because of some lost bet. But yeah…I don’t know how to finish this so we’ll just say this is the end.**

**Probably love,  
** **Race**

**P.S. I decided I’m never giving your sweatshirt back. It’s too comfy.**

Spot reread the letter to make sure he hadn’t hallucinated the whole thing before placing it on the table by his bed and laying down on top of the sheets to stare up at the ceiling in shock. 

He felt much more awake now. 

Spot couldn’t understand how Race didn’t know he was, as people would say, head over heels for him. He’d been so  _painfully_  obvious that it seemed impossible. But the proof was in the letter. Race didn’t know, and  _fuck_ , if Race hadn’t been forced into writing to his crush _—me_ , Spot corrected _—_ they probably would’ve gone on like this forever, not knowing.

Napping was definitely out of the question. There was no way he was going to sleep anytime soon, and of course it was all Race’s fault…again.

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on my sprace tumblr, @incorrectspracequotes


End file.
